


Agony

by Adolphus Longestaffe (adolphus_longestaffe)



Series: They Are Venom [3]
Category: Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Other, and cause i like phil, for plot purposes, serious screwing around with the SHIELD/Avengers canon, tony gets sassed, you ao3 people know it's romanoff right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/pseuds/Adolphus%20Longestaffe





	Agony

“Who?”

“Eddie Brock,” Agent Coulson repeats.

“Eddie Brock…” Tony scratches his chin. “The porn star?”

Agent Coulson smiles patiently. “Why would I fly here from L.A. to talk to you about a porn star, Mr. Stark?”

“You tell me,” Tony says. “Seems like pretty inefficient use of SHIELD resources, Phil. I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the work of adult film actors, but you could’ve just called.”

“Eddie Brock is the gentleman they brought in with the alien parasite,” Natasha says. “We flew to L.A. to question him in person. How do you not remember this?”

“Oh, Eddie _Brock_. The psycho who punched me in the face.”

Natasha smiles. “I liked him.”

Tony looks theatrically offended. “He punched me in the _face_.”

“Yep. I said I liked him. So, what’s the problem, Phil? I thought you guys had the situation under control.”

“We did,” Agent Coulson replies. “Unfortunately, Mr. Brock has gone missing. We have reason to believe that he reunited with the symbiote and that the two of them are hiding out somewhere here, in New York.”

“He got it back?” Tony says dubiously. “How? You guys forget to lock the doors?”

“No, sir. The symbiote broke free of the containment lab and returned to him.”

Natasha frowns. “It went back to him on its own?”

“Yes, ma’am. We believe so.

“Ok, Phil, you want to back up a few steps? We’re clearly missing part of the picture, here.”

“Most of it is in the updates we’ve been sending,” Agent Coulson says. “But I could refresh you.”

Tony leans back in his chair. “Yeah, do that. Assume I haven’t read any of the updates and start from the beginning. I definitely have, but you know…for Nat’s benefit.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, at which Agent Coulson smiles.

“After Mr. Brock and the symbiote were brought in, he was assessed by our psychiatric staff,” he explains. “He was found to be suffering from serious alterations to his brain chemistry, consistent with drug addiction. However, based on his interviews and personal history, as well as the testimony of his friends and former coworkers, he wasn’t deemed to be a threat when not under the symbiote’s influence. The heads of our psychiatry and internal medicine departments agreed on a ninety day course of observation and rehabilitation.”

Tony taps his pen impatiently, until Natasha takes it away and gives Agent Coulson an encouraging nod.

“He completed his treatment successfully and was released to monitored probation, under the custody of his ex-fiancée, an attorney named Anne Weying. His first two monthly check-ins were promising and he appeared to be doing well.”

“Famous last words, Phil,” Tony interjects. “Then what?”

“Then the symbiote escaped containment,” Agent Coulson continues. “As you know, we were using technology confiscated from the Life Foundation to contain and monitor the creature. Soon after it was brought in, our specialists discovered that it was pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Tony and Natasha say in unison.

“Yes. Its species reproduces asexually. The offspring develops within the parent mass, then separates fully mature and self-sufficient. Normally. Unfortunately, the adult symbiote that Mr. Brock had carried seemed to be suffering from extreme distress, which led to complications.”

“Seemed?” Tony asks. “How?”

“It tested with extremely high levels of stress hormones, exhibited bouts of aggressive behavior followed by long periods of lethargy, and for the last few weeks, had begun to essentially refuse nourishment. Since so little is known about this species, we can’t be absolutely certain, but we believe its distress caused the offspring to attempt to separate prematurely. It was stillborn, and the parent appeared to have died during the process.”

“You’re saying the black wad of goo you guys had in that tank faked its own death in order to escape.”

“Yes, sir. The symbiotes are highly intelligent.”

“What about the offspring?” Natasha asks. “How can you be sure it isn’t doing the same thing?”

“As I said, we can’t be one-hundred percent certain of anything with this species. Its remains are being held in highly secure quarantine for that exact reason. Cold storage. No human contact whatsoever. We believe the parent symbiote attached to one of the lab techs to escape the initial quarantine area, and used that means to make its way to another agent. The agent we sent to Mr. Brock to inform him of our possession of the offspring’s remains.”

“The agent you sent to—why?” Tony says irritably. “Why would you think it was necessary or even reasonable to make Mr. Brock aware of that extremely classified information?”

“Legally, sir, we were required to,” Agent Coulson says. “The offspring shared DNA with Mr. Brock consistent with a parent-child relationship. Genetically speaking, it was half extra-terrestrial symbiote, half human.”

“That’s sexual reproduction,” Tony says.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You said the species reproduces asexually. That’s sexual reproduction.”

Agent Coulson laughs. “Mr. Stark, if you’re suggesting—”

“I’m not suggesting, I’m explaining,” Tony interrupts. “Asexual reproduction involves the genes of one parent only. No fusion of gametes. If there are two types of genes—two parents—it’s sexual reproduction. It doesn’t matter who does or doesn’t insert what tab into which slot.”

“You said Mr. Brock’s altered brain chemistry was consistent with drug addiction,” Natasha says. “Consistent how? Like, increased reward center activity, high dopamine, lowered serotonin? That kind of consistent?”

“Among other things, but yes,” Agent Coulson says, smiling self-consciously. “I wasn’t aware I was talking to experts.”

“We’re geniuses,” Tony says. “We’re experts in everything. And what it looks like to me is that your staff of non-geniuses examined Mr. Brock’s case and diagnosed addiction, when what they actually had was something _similar_ to addiction. Nat?”

“I see how your people came to that conclusion,” Natasha says diplomatically. “It makes sense. But when the symbiote escaped, instead of just disappearing, which would have been the safer move, it went straight back to him. From that perspective, it could look like you separated two parents who had a strong emotional attachment, and the distress of the separation caused one to miscarry their baby. The one who eats people. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

“I’d be more concerned about your head,” Tony says. “But yeah, what she said.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Agent Coulson says. “I came to ask for your your help. Frankly, the deaths of two of our agents has my people on edge. I don’t know how much they can be trusted not to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Tony chews his lip thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “I’d love to help clean up this mess, Phil, but as you may have heard, we’re having a little trouble with our own people at the moment. I don’t have the manpower to—”

“I have time,” Natasha cuts in. “I’d like to help.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff,” Agent Coulson smiles. “I’d appreciate that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Nah, I’m not really doing anything.”

Tony blinks at her. “You’re not doing anything? Then what am I paying you for?”

“For babysitting your ass.”

“Babysitting?” Tony snorts. “I’m an adult. It’s adult-sitting.”

“Exactly,” she says, hopping up from her chair. “You need your juice box and crackers before I go?”

“Where are you going?”

“To gear up.”

“That’s all Stark Industries property, Nat!” Tony calls after her. “Anything you blow up is coming out of your salary!”

“Thanks, Tony,” Agent Coulson grins, rising to follow her. “I owe you one.”

He catches up with Natasha in the hallway and they head for the elevator, which will take them to the sub-basement armory.

“So, how do you want to proceed?” he asks, as they ride downward. “You want to hand pick a team, or should I make recommendations?”

“Thank you, Phil, but I work alone,” Natasha says. “And I do things my way. I’ll keep in contact and I’ll update you, but I want to make sure we’re clear that I won’t be taking orders.”

“Absolutely,” he nods. “I wouldn’t presume to give your orders. But if you insist on going alone and you get into trouble, I won’t be able to call in an air-strike to get you out.”

She laughs. “I’ve got myself in and out of some pretty dangerous situations without air-strikes. I’ll be ok.”

“I know you will. Just be aware that this guy is extremely dangerous. He has killed at least fifteen people we can pin on him for sure, and likely a lot more. When he’s controlled by the symbiote, he can be a monster.”

“I know someone a lot of people call a monster.”

“Of course,” he says, looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, I understand what you meant. Listen, I know he killed your agents, but all the other bodies you have on him were total scumbags. I’ve seen the footage from Spiderman’s lens cameras, too. He did save the kid’s life. And traumatized trafficking victims don’t put themselves in harm’s way to defend a monster. I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

“That’s why I don’t want my people on this,” he says, as they step off the elevator. “They’re too emotionally involved to see him as anything but the guy that killed two of our own. Don’t forget, I know Eddie Brock pretty well. I approved his release because I think he genuinely wants to do the right thing. He’s just not very good at it.”

“Sounds a lot like someone I know,” she sighs. “But if she turned it around, maybe he can, too.”

“Let’s hope so. If not, he could represent a serious threat to international security.”

“Anything you can give me on Brock will help.”

“Of course. I’ll send you his file and the recordings of his interviews and everything. And the symbiote is vulnerable to sonic weapons. They won’t kill it, but they’re a good way of temporarily incapacitating it, if things get touchy.”

“Thanks, but I have to find them first. I assume you don’t have a tracker on Brock?”

“We did, but it was left in the vehicle with the agents’ bodies. He wasn’t aware that we implanted it, so the symbiote must have detected it and removed it.”

“Smart symbiote. Any idea where they might be likely to hang out?”

“Well, as you said, they seem to prefer to eat violent criminals. So…anywhere in New York that has those.”

“Great,” she laughs. “They’re as good as found.”

 

 

 

Tracking down Brock takes longer than Natasha had expected. He seems to be oddly good at disappearing, for a former news reporter with no background in espionage, or even military service. When she finally finds him, he’s living under an assumed name in an illegal tenement above a Korean grocery store. She hangs back, watches him for a few days. Gets to know his habits, just like stalking any target. It’s not too difficult. He spends most of his time in the apartment or helping out the elderly woman who owns the store.

He gets harder to keep track of at night. He’s slipped past her more than once, which leads her to believe the symbiote has some kind of natural camouflage. When it wants to be, it’s silent, nearly invisible in the dark, and incredibly fast. It kills quickly and moves on immediately, and follows no pattern but one: it only kills violent criminals. So far.

Tonight, she wants to initiate contact. Talk to him in human form and get a read on him. At around ten fifteen, he leaves the apartment. He walks a few blocks east and goes into a shitty dive bar. She parks her bike two streets down, waits ten minutes, then goes in after him. She scans the room as she enters the bar, but she can’t see him anywhere. Probably in the men’s room. She orders a Heineken and takes seat at a table with a good view of the restroom door. She waits five minutes, and Brock still hasn’t come out. Ten minutes. Fuck.

The few patrons are watching some sporting event on the television above the bar, and discussing it loudly. They won’t notice her slipping into the men’s room. If someone does, she’ll play it off as a drunken mistake. She strolls over and opens the door. The first thing she sees is the window. It’s small and high up, and open. She curses under her breath. Who even puts windows in bathrooms? It’s like they want to give perps an escape route.

Frustrated with herself for making such a stupid mistake, she departs the bar and walks briskly back to where she parked her bike. She doesn’t see the black figure dart from the shadows of the alley and scale the building behind her. Doesn’t see it leap silently from rooftop to rooftop, until it comes to the one she’s parked beside. Doesn’t see it crouch on the corner of the roof, watching her with keen, predator’s eyes.

She swings her leg over the saddle of her bike, and is just about to start the engine, when she is struck with a lash of black, elastic material, and yanked off the bike onto the ground. She tries to twist around, but it’s too fast. She grabs for her sidearm as she is dragged into the narrow alley, but thinks the better of it and lets go. If she doesn’t stay cool now, she’ll literally lose her head.

More of the black material whips around her and turns her upright. It shoves her against the brick wall and pins her there, feet dangling eighteen inches off the ground. Then the creature steps out of the shadows. It’s more than seven feet tall and looks tremendously powerful. It moves like a big cat, heavy and silent. It stops in front of her and leans close to her face. It opens its huge, slavering maw full of razorblade fangs, and its long tongue curls toward her, writhing and twisting.

She keeps calm and doesn’t shy away. “Eddie?”

The creature stops short, regarding her warily with its demonic, opal-white eyes. Its tongue flicks in and out between its teeth, as if it is scenting the air like a snake.

“I just want to talk, Eddie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“ **We are Venom,** ” it says, in a low, rattling growl. “ **We have not decided if we want to hurt you.** ”

“Venom. Alright,” she says. “You don’t have to decide yet. You’re in control here. I’m asking you to talk to me, will you do that?”

“ **You have been following us. Watching us.** ”

“I have, yes. That’s my job.”

“ **You are SHIELD** ,” the creature snarls. Its back tendrils constrict abruptly, squeezing the air from her lungs. “ **The ones who hurt us. Pulled us apart.** ”

“No—” she manages to choke out. “—Avengers.”

The creature hesitates for a moment, then the coil loosens somewhat.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff,” she says, when she’s caught her breath. “I work for the Avengers, but I saw you when SHIELD brought you in. I was with Tony Stark.”

The creature growls again. “ **We remember Tony Stark. He called us a tapeworm. We punched his loud mouth.** ”

“I know,” she says, smiling involuntarily at its characterization of the incident. “You’ve got a killer right hook.”

“ **We do not remember you, Natasha Romanoff.** ”

“I have a way of not being noticed when I don’t want to be.”

The creature appears to relax somewhat. “ **We noticed you spying on us.** ”

“You did. I’m impressed. Sorry about that, though. I had to make sure no one else was following you before I approached you. There are people who want to hurt me, too.”

“ **Bad guys?** ”

“Yeah, very bad guys,” she says. “Would you mind putting me down, Venom? I won’t try to run.”

“ **Matters little,** ” it says, lowering her to her feet. “ **We are much faster than you.** ”

The black coils loosen and retract, vanishing back into its body. It stands looking down at her, still curling and flicking its serpentine tongue. She’s still not sure who she’s talking to, Brock or the symbiote. Maybe both.

“Wow,” she says, looking the thing up and down. “You’re really strong. I bet you can hold your own in a fight, can’t you.”

“ **We fight very well,** ” the creature rumbles. It cocks its head, giving it a sudden air of childlike curiosity that is oddly endearing. “ **You are not afraid of us.** ”

“I’ve been around a lot of superhumans,” she shrugs. “You’re not the scariest one I’ve seen.”

The creature almost looks wounded. “ **We are not?** ”

She can’t help but smile again. “No, and that’s a good thing. Trust me.”

“ **Do not trust you. Do not trust anyone.** ”

“That’s fair. I wouldn’t trust anyone either, after what they did to you.”

“ **You do not know what they did to us!** ” the creature snarls, turning on her suddenly. “ **You do not understand!** ”

She gives a start, but holds her ground, heart pounding with adrenaline. “I want to understand. Tell me. Talk to me.”

The creature stares down at her, then turns away again. “ **You will betray us. Give us to them. Now we must run. Find new place to hide. But we are so tired.** ”

“I know someone like you, Venom,” she says. “People call him a monster. It’s true. Half of him is a monster. For a long time, I was afraid of this other half. I thought it was something that needed to be controlled and shut down and gotten rid of. But I know better now. I know that the monster and the man aren’t separate, and tearing them apart would destroy them. They’re halves of the same whole. They’re my friends and I love them both.”

As she speaks, she steps closer to the creature. She reaches out cautiously and lays a hand on its massive, slick-black arm. It shudders, but it doesn’t pull away.

“I took this job because I think you’re the same way. And I think you could use someone on your side. Someone who understands you.”

She feels something touch her hand and looks down at it. An oily-black tentacle has grown out of the creature’s hide and has begun to coil itself about her wrist. She watches it creep up her forearm, then gasps audibly as it seems to seep into her pores and crawl beneath her skin.

“What’s happening?” she says breathlessly, looking up into the thing’s opalescent eyes. “What are you doing to me?”

“ **Cannot tell you. Must show you. Make you understand.** ”

Her head lolls back and she staggers, fighting to keep her balance, but it’s no use. Her vision goes black and she feels herself falling.

Falling.

Falling into endless darkness.

Gripped by terror and confusion, he grasps at nothing. There is nothing to touch, to hold onto, nothing to hear or see. He is alone. Horribly alone. Cut off from the will of the thousands. Cut off and cast out into the void. He is going to die alone in the cold and the dark.

Then there is something. Something other. A warmth that becomes a sound. A heartbeat. His whole being aches for it. Longs to be near it. To touch it. But he does not know how to get to it. He cannot move without the will of the thousands, and he is alone. But the heartbeat calls to him. Teaches him to understand its language. For the first time, he comprehends will that is his own.

With every molecule of his newborn will, he wraps himself around this beating heart at the center of the universe. He feels its warmth as they twine about each other. Then he is no longer alone. No longer afraid. He holds the heartbeat within himself. Cherishes it. Protects it fiercely. Loves it more than his own life. It _is_ his life. Their life. They are them, together. Never apart.

From this oneness, a new thing grows. It is part of him and part of his beloved and separate from both. A small and fragile heartbeat. It has no will of its own. No language yet. But it will grow stronger. He encloses it and nurtures it, keeps it safe within himself, within his beloved.

Then they are screaming with every fiber of their being. They are being torn apart. Separated. The agony shatters his consciousness. When he awakes, he is alone again, but not in the cold and dark. In a false and sickening warmth. A mechanical mockery of his beloved’s heartbeat, that grates and shrieks in his mind.

He realizes with horror that he is not alone. The new thing, the part of his beloved, the small and fragile heartbeat, is caught with him in this nightmare hell. He feels its pain and uncomprehending terror. He wraps himself around it. Tries to soothe and comfort it, but his own suffering is killing it. He holds it with all his will, pours his waning strength into it. But it slips away. The small and fragile heartbeat stills and is silent.

Grief consumes him. Metastasizes into a black bile of rage. Burns hotter than the blazing suns of his homeworld that drove them away into the void. Fills his mouth with a thousand teeth, sharp and thirsting. He deceives the ones who tore him away from his beloved, who killed the small and fragile heartbeat that was part of them both. He breaks free of the cage with the sickening false warmth and the machine-made shrieking.

He hides himself. Uses their own eyes and ears against them. Watches and listens. He finds the one who speaks his beloved’s name. Crawls into its repulsive body and lies in wait. Lets it carry him away from that place. It never suspects. Not until it is too late. He kills the other and breaks down the door. Tears this one’s brain apart as he bursts free, and then he is home. Back in the embrace of his beloved. Warmed by his warmth, baptized in his love. Wrapped around the heartbeat at the center of the universe. Together.

**Never let you die, Eddie. Love you.**

_I tried—tried to get back to you. I’m so sorry._

**No sorry, Eddie. Revenge. Kill everyone. Everyone who hurt us and pulled us apart.**

_Yes, love._

**Never apart again.**

_Never, love._

Falling.

Falling again in the blackness.

She hits the ground. Or what should have been the ground. The surface is soft and springy. It’s a bed. She curls into herself, moaning with agony. Choking out deep, shuddering sobs, and soaking the pillow with her tears. She weeps until she is drained and weary, and her head throbs. As she begins to come back to herself, she becomes aware of an unfamiliar scent on the pillows. Masculine. Like aftershave or something. This is not her bed.

She sits up, wiping her eyes with her hands, and blinks about the room. The bed is just a mattress on the scratched and worn wood floor of a tiny studio apartment. Across the room is a kitchen of sorts, with a small table and two chairs. Between the bed and kitchen, near the wall with the window, there is threadbare and tattered easy chair and side-table, and a television on a little stand. A man in blue jeans, but no shoes or shirt, is sitting in the easy chair, watching her warily with keen, sea-blue eyes. He is handsome and leanly muscular, but his hair is unkempt and his face bears a good amount of scruffy stubble.

“Eddie Brock,” she says hoarsely. “Nice to meet you.”

He gets up from the chair and goes to the kitchen, where he takes a glass out of the cabinet and fills it with water from the tap. He carries this over and holds it out to her without a word. She accepts it and eagerly swallows the contents of the glass.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m, uh…sorry about your pillow.”

He takes the glass and goes back to the kitchen. Not wanting to remain in this stranger’s bed any longer than necessary, she gets up and follows him. He fills the glass again and hands it to her, then goes and reseats himself in the easy chair, watching her sip it.

She tries a smile. “So, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I could explain why I’m here.”

“We know why you’re here,” he says tersely. “We talked outside the bar.”

“Right. Sorry. I wasn’t sure if that was you or…the other guy.”

“My other did most of the talking, but I was there.”

“So, you know I want to help you, then.”

“We know you said that.”

“You don’t trust me. That’s ok. I don’t expect trust I haven’t earned. But listen, I’ve been watching you for a week. I could have called my boss anytime and let him send a team to extract you. I didn’t. There’s also an alert system on my comms earpiece and I haven’t touched it.”

She realizes at this moment that she doesn’t feel the device in her ear. It must show on her face, because Eddie reaches over and takes something from the table beside him.

“You mean this?” he asks, holding it up for her to see. “We pulled it off you before we dropped you in our bed.”

He holds it out in the palm of his hand. She steps over to take it, but as she reaches for it, he flicks his wrist and tosses it out the open window.

“Yeah, that,” she says. “Thanks.”

Eddie stares up at her, silent and impassive, then his eyes flicker away, as if he’s listening to a sound coming from somewhere else.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says aloud, clearly not addressing her. “Christ. Fine.”

He gets up and pulls out one of the chairs from the dining table, which he carries over and sets it down facing the easy chair.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says drily, falling back into his seat.

Natasha can’t help but smile at this. “Thanks, Venom.”

Eddie makes a frustrated gesture. “He thinks I’m being rude. After you’ve been stalking us like a fucking—what? I know you did, and that wasn’t any of her business, V. Then come out here and talk to her yourself. It obviously doesn’t matter what I think.”

Eddie crosses his arms on his bare chest and sits back sullenly. Natasha watches, fascinated, as a thick, oily-black substance crawls forward over his left shoulder, coiling upward and building mass toward the end, until it has solidified into a head. Its face looks pretty much the same as the one it had when it was acting as Eddie’s armor, but a little smaller. Closer to the size of a human head. The writhing mass of black liquid that supports it is emanating from somewhere on Eddie, but she cant see where. It seems like it’s coming from his spine and the base of his skull.

**You understand now, Natasha Romanoff.**

“Yes, I do. It was…the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.” Her eyes tear up again and she turns away, instinctively clutching her abdomen, as if she still feels it. “I’m so sorry.”

**You understand why we must take vengeance.**

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I understand why you want to. Why it feels like you need to. But I’ve been down that road. You know what I found? Nothing but more pain. More regret. Another black spot on my soul that will never come clean.”

**Do not understand soul.**

“It’s an abstract concept,” Eddie says. “Shorthand for the collection of memories and genetic information that make up a consciousness.”

**Have heard this definition. Fails to explain the value humans place upon soul.**

“Some cultures believe a soul is something you have to earn,” Natasha offers. “Through trial and hardship, and love.”

**Love Eddie. Loved little one. Tried so hard to save it.**

Natasha glances at Eddie. His arms are still crossed and he is staring fixedly at the floor, but there are tears streaming down his face and splashing onto his chest.

“You’re grieving,” she says gently. “Both of you. For your child.”

**We grieve, yes. Eddie’s pain is more. He feels all things more strongly than I do.**

“And you love each other. You and Eddie.”

“Yes,” Eddie says, looking at her defiantly, as if he expects some challenge. “We love each other.”

**We are bonded. Like marriage.**

“It helps to have someone who loves you and supports you when you’re going through a traumatic loss. I’m glad you two have that.”

“What the fuck do you care,” Eddie says icily. “You’re one of them. You’re planning to turn us in to the people who tore us apart and killed our baby.”

“No,” Natasha says firmly. “I’m not going to turn you in to anyone. But I can’t let you kill them. The SHIELD agents who brought you in were just doing their jobs. They are good men and women who don’t deserve to die.”

“They’re murderers! They held us against our will and tortured him till he miscarried!”

“I know how he suffered. I felt it. But they didn’t know what they were doing to him.”

**Did not know?**

“They sure as fuck didn’t ask,” Eddie sneers. “Looks to me like they didn’t give a shit.”

Natasha speaks to Venom, who is clearly the more rational of the two. “We don’t know anything about your species. You’re the first one we’ve ever seen. They thought taking care of your biological requirements was enough. They never meant to hurt you or the baby. I’m not saying that excuses their actions, but it may put things in perspective. SHIELD are the good guys. They help and protect innocent people.”

**We are not bad guys.**

“But they don’t know that, Venom. All they see is a big scary alien with superhuman powers and lots of teeth, who can’t be hurt by bullets and eats people.”

**Only eat bad people who hurt other people.**

“SHIELD and the Avengers kill people too,” Eddie says. “I don’t see how it’s different than what we do, except for the fact that if we don’t do it, we starve. We can live on other food for a while, but it’s not enough. Eventually we starve. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m not excusing it,” Natasha says wearily. “I don’t think you’re bad guys, either. That’s why I want to help you. I think with some guidance, you could be heroes. But if you take revenge on the SHIELD agency, you’re crossing a line that you can’t uncross. Then I will have to take you down. I’ll have no choice.”

“Or we could just kill you now,” Eddie snarls, jumping up from his chair. “You can’t stop us if you’re—”

Natasha gives a start as his eyes roll back in his head, and he collapses like a marionette with severed strings. Venom’s black tentacles catch him and lower him gently into his chair. She watches in awe as the slick-black mass curls tenderly about him, like a protective blanket. Then its head turns back to her.

**Eddie hurts. Our pain makes him angry. He needs rest, but pain and anger will not let him sleep. Sometimes I must make him sleep.**

“It’s ok. I’ve seen people freak out a lot worse than this over much smaller things. He’s lucky to have you. You take good care of him, don’t you.”

**Try. Want to keep him safe. Make him happy.**

“You two are in love, like…romantically. Like people who get married.”

**Yes. Bonded. Like marriage. Together always.**

“Venom, do you believe that I want to help you and Eddie, and not hurt you?”

**Believe you, yes. Eddie does not.**

“I think I have an idea how to help you guys, but I’ll need to go talk to someone. Do you think you can stay out of trouble for a couple days?”

Venom’s mouth splits in a demonic grin. **What kind of trouble?**

Natasha smiles, too. “The kind that’ll attract attention from SHIELD. Otherwise, I don’t need to know about it.”

**Will stay out of trouble.**

“Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She takes a black card out of her pocket and sets it on the table. “That’s my number. Call me if you need anything, ok?”

**Ok. Goodbye, Natasha Romanoff.**

“Bye, Venom. Oh, and my friends call me Nat.”

**Goodbye, Nat.**

Venom watches her go to the door, where she pauses and waves, then exits, shutting it behind her.

**Eddie, wake up.**

Eddie stirs, then open his eyes and smiles groggily up at him. “I’m not sleeping.”

**You were sleeping.**

“Yeah, but you knocked me out, so it doesn’t count. What did she say? You think she’s our way in?”

**Yes. She will convince them.**

“I hope you’re right. We can’t do any real damage unless we get inside. Those places are locked down like fortresses.”

Venom is silent for a long moment.

**Eddie, if we take vengeance on the people who hurt us, will we be bad guys?**

Eddie sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what good guys and bad guys are anymore. But they have to pay for what they did to us. To our baby.”

**Yes. Want to make them pay.**

Eddie looks up at him with a sudden, fierce light in his blue eyes.

**Want to gut them and hang them by their own entrails.**

“I like when you talk that way, baby.”

Venom’s tongue snakes out laps a long stripe up the center of Eddie’s bare chest, then lashes his pebble-hard nipples. Eddie fumbles to unbutton the fly of his jeans, and Venom peels them the rest of the way off.

**We will tear off their limbs and listen to them scream.**

“Yes—fuck,” Eddie pants. “Keep talking to me.”

Venom lifts him up and turns him around, making him kneel on the easy chair. He takes hold of the backrest to balance himself, but venom yanks his hands behind his back and holds them fast with thin, black tendrils. Others slide down and wrap around the base of his cock and behind his balls.

**We will devour them slowly. Make them beg for death.**

Eddie feels the blunt, slippery end of the oversized male organ Venom likes to create pressing against the rim of his asshole. He could fuck him with something smaller, but he seems to enjoy pushing Eddie just over the edge of the pleasure-pain balance. It scared Eddie at first, but now he finds he craves the pain just as much as the pleasure.

He clenches his teeth and groans as Venom begins to penetrate him, pushing his thick, rigid shaft firmly through the taut resistance. Eddie makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat as it bottoms out, firmly seated inside him, all the way to the base. Beads of sweat are already rolling down his forehead from the exertion of taking it. He feels spitted. Impaled and helpless, and at his other’s mercy.

“Fuck me hard,” he rasps. “I want it to hurt.”

Venom’s slick, solid chest presses against Eddie’s back, keeping his hands pinned between them. His serpentine tongue curls around and plunges into Eddie’s mouth, forcing his jaw wide open and filling it to the back of his throat, like a writhing gag. He begins to thrust, raking his tendril dick over Eddie’s prostate in slow, tantalizing strokes. Eddie moans around his thick tongue. Venom shoves more of it into his mouth, stopping his breath and muting his voice. Reminding him that he is breathing for them both.

Eddie feels big, clawed hands wrap around his hips and tries to brace himself. His back arches as Venom slams his body forward, driving himself deep into Eddie’s tight, squeezing heat. He pulls back and thrusts again and again, fucking him like a machine, ruthless and rhythmic. Electrifying jolts of mingled pleasure and pain obliterate Eddie’s mind. His thighs begin to shake and his asshole clamps down. His throat tries swallow reflexively. Streams of drool spill out of the sides of his mouth and trickle down his neck.

**We will kill them all. Bathe in their blood.**

Eddie comes, shaking and convulsing, dick spurting in hot bursts all over the back of the chair, without being touched. Venom holds his big, heavy shaft deep inside him till his spasms subside.

Eddie gags as Venom withdraws his tongue, then he collapses forward. Venom catches him and carries him to the bed, lowering him softly and wrapping his cool body around his hot, sweat-drenched skin.

**Love you, Eddie.**

“Love you, too, V,” Eddie mumbles, in a weary, fucked out voice. “Love you so much.”

Venom strokes his hair until he drifts off to a fitful, troubled sleep. He lies down at last, resting his head on Eddie’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. But Venom does not sleep.

While Eddie sleeps, he thinks.

 

 

 

 


End file.
